


Kiss Me So Sweet and So Soft

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 6x03/6x04 spoilers, F/M, One-Shot, Season/Series 06 Spoilers, Smut-adjacent, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: SUMMARY:  Post-episode for 6x03; picks up, hmmm, let’s say fifteen minutes from the moment Felicity pushed Oliver out of frame.SPOILERS for 6x03.





	Kiss Me So Sweet and So Soft

 

 

When she comes back to herself, Felicity is an overheated, overjoyed, overstimulated mess of a person, mostly naked and splayed atop Oliver. He’s  _ definitely _ still got his pants and boxer briefs pooled around his ankles, and her tank top is dangling from her left elbow, but somehow her bra is off. Probably because Oliver has some freaky magical sex skills when it comes to getting clothes off of her. 

Whatever. The gist of things is that every inch of her is pressed tightly against Oliver’s sweaty skin or, less enjoyably, the upholstery of the giant oversized beanbag. 

“Hot,” she mutters, still breathing too hard to formulate subjects and predicates, her body delightfully boneless, her bloodstream full to the brim with endorphins. She feels  _ awesome _ . But still hot. In retrospect, perhaps they should’ve chosen a different piece of furniture for the enthusiastic reunion sex. “Down,” she manages, flopping backwards, one arm flailing behind her to catch herself. She  _ totally _ would’ve smashed her head into the floor if Oliver didn’t wrap those big, sweaty arms around her to halt her descent.

Once he struggles his way out of the beanbag, he follows her down to the floor, still snug between her thighs, his big hands stroking along her ribcage as he props himself on one elbow to look down at her. Turns out, passionate sex on a giant beanbag is  _ exhausting _ , and you kind of end up...  _ engulfed _ by the thing? At this point, she is so overheated that the cool press of the floorboards into her (mostly) naked skin is a relief.

“Better?” Oliver mutters into her neck. His breathing is already back under control, because  _ someone _ has really annoying cardio-vascular fitness, but she’s still too blissed out to be irritated about it.

“Best,” she answers with a grin. Her throat is dry, and his familiar, comforting weight is pressing her spine into the floorboards. Which is not great for her implant, but the absolute last thing in the world she wants to do right now is move an inch away from Oliver. She has missed this.  _ So much _ .

“You are,” Oliver agrees, pressing scratchy little kisses along her throat. He shifts above her, sliding his free arm beneath her back, encouraging her to arch up a bit and relieve the pressure on her spine. “Felicity, I...” He exhales shakily against her collarbone, then lifts his torso to gaze down at her.

Felicity squints a bit, lifting her arms to circle his neck. “I know,” she tells him with an impossibly large grin on her face. She can see how overwhelmed he is with emotion -- joy, relief, a healthy smattering of something like fear -- she is, too.

This --  _ them _ \-- it’s been a long time coming, but also somehow feels incredibly sudden. For Oliver to just show up and say all these amazing things and present her with a key--

“ _ Frak _ !” Felicity half-sits up, and only Oliver’s lightning-fast reflexes keeps him from getting her forehead right in his nose. “Sorry,” she apologizes, squirming out from under him.

Wide-eyed, Oliver shifts to his knees, reaching to help her. “What? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He’s semi-frozen, hands hovering an inch from her skin as he scans her for injury.

But Felicity is wholly focused on what she  _ doesn’t _ have in her hand anymore. “The key!” She scrambles to her feet, absently shaking the tank top free, and looks around frantically. Because she  _ knows _ without him having to tell her that Oliver made an effort. Not just by getting her a key made -- and, one hopes, adding her to the building’s list of people who are allowed to waltz into the mayor’s private elevator unannounced -- but by putting some time and effort into finding the cutest little eyeglasses emoji keychain she’s ever seen.

She  _ has _ to find it. She’s so distracted by the urgent search that the fact that she’s skittering around the room utterly naked doesn’t even register. Her pajama pants ended up over near the kitchen, somehow, and the general startup-related mess is not helping her to locate the key to Oliver's apartment.

In the interest of time, Oliver yanks his pants and boxers up, holding them with one hand as he pushes to his feet. “Felicity.” He touches her elbow to catch her attention. “The key?”

The panic eases a bit, and Felicity turns to face him with an apologetic look. “I was holding the key,” she explains, and the anxiety drains from his frame, “when all of  _ that _ started.” She gestures vaguely towards the beanbag, which, now that she’s looking at it, has quite a pronounced dent in it now. Oops.

“ _ Started _ ?” Oliver echoes with a healthy helping of sarcasm. His snarky eyebrow arches, mocking her in its impossibly smug way. “You shoved me onto the beanbag!”

“I did not  _ shove _ you,” she defends, even though, yeah, she really probably did. “But I don’t know what I did with the key once we got frisky!”

Oliver’s gaze drifts away from her face, appreciatively sliding over her body. And, yeah,  _ now _ Felicity remembers she’s standing in front of him naked. Yup. She and her suddenly hard nipples are _really_ clear on that. “We’ll find it later,” he dismisses, leaning down to tug his shoes off.

“We’ll  _ find it later _ ?” Her voice is kind of high and maybe a little louder than necessary? 

“Felicity,” Oliver answers, drawing out her name in that  _ way _ of his. Then he drops his pants and steps out of them, and Felicity is  _ so  _ aware that they are both very naked. “I have more important things on my mind right now.” Her gaze drops and she nods appreciatively.

The man makes a reasonable argument. Felicity actually feels herself sway towards him as he steps closer. But there’s a battle going on between her lust for her -- what? boyfriend? -- and her very squishy heart that needs to see the key again and maybe hug it. Because Oliver doesn’t give physical gifts that often, but when he does, they’re so thoughtful that it leaves her breathless with affection. His gifts should be cherished. “But you gave me this wonderful gift and then I just  _ lose _ it?” Frowning, she turns away, scanning the ground for the bright yellow emoji keychain. 

“It’s not lost,” he protests. “I promise.”

“I don't know where it is, so it is currently very lost.” Felicity points out, turning back to him and holding up her very empty hands. “Which is kind of your fault, actually,” she decides, narrowing her eyes and stepping right into his personal space. “You  _ distracted  _ me,” she accuses, letting her fingers trail down his naked chest, “with all of  _ this _ .” She tries very hard to keep a straight face, but the bubbly happiness in her chest is basically irrepressible. 

Oliver’s arms loop around her, tugging her closer, his warm palm sliding dangerously low on her back, and -- yup, they are  _ super _ naked. Felicity is starting to wonder why she’s bothering to argue with him right now. “I’ll buy you another key if we can’t find it,” he tells her, leaning in. He’s so much taller when she’s not wearing heels. She drags her fingernails around his ribs, giving him an affectionate hug, because, yeah, she missed the sex -- God, they are just  _ really _ good at it -- but she’s missed this simple intimacy, this skin-on-skin contact, this warm, loving, open affection. Oliver presses a kiss to her temple. “I’ll buy you a hundred keys,” he murmurs against her hair. 

She nips at his chest. “I want the one you wrapped for me. I want the keychain you picked out for me. Though,” she adds with a quick little pinch of his delectable ass, “I didn’t know you knew what an emoji  _ was _ , never mind which one would be cute to get me.”

Oliver makes this half-laugh, half-exasperated sigh kind of noise, and leans back to look down at her. “William helped me pick it out,” he admits, and Felicity feels the sting of tears in her eyes again at the thought of those two looking for a gift for her. 

“He did?” she manages.

“He really likes you,” Oliver tells her, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I explained to him that you are a permanent part of my life --  _ our _ life -- and he was excited.”

Felicity has to smoosh her lips together to hold her emotions in check. Wordlessly, she leans in and hugs him as hard as she can, letting her actions convey how touched she is by what he’s told her. 

When she’s pretty sure she can speak without crying, she tips her head back. “Now I  _ really _ need to find the keychain.” It’s more of an overwrought wail of emotion than a simple statement of fact, but Oliver laughs against her, and, God, she’s missed this, too. The one unexpected thing about their relationship the last time around was how easy and fun they could be in their little world together. It was like taking their existing friendship and turning it up by a few notches -- losing that in their breakup had been just as awful as losing all the great sex and the loving words.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Oliver offers. She tilts her head, wordlessly encouraging him to continue. He leans in, kissing her softly. “You go get in bed, I’ll find the key, get us some water, and be right up.”

“Oh.” Felicity stills in his embrace, pursing her lips as she tries to keep the sudden uncertainty she’s feeling from tumbling out all over him. She grasps his biceps, letting the familiar feel of him ground her. “You’re staying?” she asks, and  _ then _ realizes she’s put things exactly the wrong way, like maybe implying she wants him to leave. Which she _doesn't_. At all. Basically ever again.

Oliver’s expression goes eerily neutral. “I mean, I didn’t come over her to--”  He stops, shakes his head minutely. “I thought that-- I can go if you--”

“No, no, no,” Felicity shakes her head a little desperately, her grip on his giant arms tightening. She takes a breath and tries to make the words make the right kind of sense. “I want you to stay," she tells him, simple and clear. He relaxes fractionally against her and she smiles encouragingly. "I just assumed-- Because of William-- I figured you would have to be home for--”

“No,” Oliver says on an exhale, a relieved smile replacing that unnerving blank look. His palm traces a warm path down her spine. “It’s one of Raisa’s nights at the apartment, so I can-- If you want, I can stay over.”

Just like that the reality hits her -- they're  _really_ doing this. It feels big and important and inevitable, but also kind of scary. Because they cannot screw this up again. They have to get this right for themselves, and for William. It's basically a big old tidal wave of feelings that hits her, and she just nods at him because she knows she’s not going to get words out. 

“Felicity,” he murmurs, pulling her tight against him again. “Hey, hey, this is a good thing.”

“Best thing,” she croaks, then laughs at how ridiculous she’s being. “Okay,” she says, stepping back and pressing her palms flat against his chest. His beautiful chest that she’s allowed to touch again. “I accept your deal.”

Oliver’s brow furrows in confusion. “Huh?”

She cups his cheeks, tilting his head down as she surges up to kiss him sweetly. “Find my key and the keychain that you and your super-smart son picked out for me,” she reminds him. “I’ll warm up the bed.”

He pulls her close again, just hugging her for a long, warm moment. Then he releases her. “Deal,” he says, smirking a little for reasons she doesn’t understand until she turns to go and he lightly slaps her ass.

Felicity gasps in faux outrage. “Now you owe me keys, water,  _ and _ some of that fancy chocolate that I definitely didn’t hide in that stupid drawer in the kitchen. You know, the one with all your baking stuff I was never allowed to touch?”

Oliver gives her a long-suffering sigh, the exasperation of which is almost wholly undercut by the part where he’s standing naked in the middle of the room. 

Felicity puts a little sway in her step when she reaches the staircase. “Don’t take too long,” she singsongs. 

He doesn’t.

She’s still readjusting the truly absurd amount of pillows on her bed -- and jettisoning the body pillow, because Oliver is hard and muscle-y, but also  _ way _ better to drape herself over than memory foam -- when he appears in the doorway. Still naked. He walks to his side of the bed and puts down his phone, then hands her a glass of water, her phone, a wrapped chocolate, and the cute little keychain. 

Felicity squeals with excitement. She puts down the water and her phone and the chocolate -- for later -- and hugs the keychain to her chest. “Thank you!” 

“You’re welcome,” he says with a chuckle, joining her in bed and pulling the blankets up over them both. “Now, c’mere.”

Felicity reverently places the keychain on her bedside table -- pausing to turn his bespectacled gaze away, because the little guy really doesn’t need to see what's about to happen -- and then snaps off the light. She rolls closer to snuggle against Oliver, beaming her happiness into the dark of their bedroom.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Oliver murmurs into her hair. He's got one arm beneath her head, the other slung across his abdomen so that he can skim his fingertips against her hip.

Felicity lets her palm run down his torso slowly. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” she tells him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, slinking down his body inch by inch. “I’ve missed you.” She nips at his nipple and he groans. She smirks into his skin. “I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve missed you, too," Oliver says, his voice rough with emotion and arousal. "I can’t wait to wake up with you again, Felicity,” he confesses in that soft tone he only ever uses in the dark of night. 

“I can’t wait to wake up with you again,” she tells him, recalling dozens of lazy mornings in bed. Then she lifts her head from his ribcage and stares at him. “Wait,” she asks suspiciously, “wake up  _ when _ exactly?”

Oliver tightens his grip on her. “Um.”

“Oliver,” she warns.

“I need to be home to make breakfast for William,” he admits. “And I have to be there before he wakes up, because I don’t want to have to a conversation about sleepovers at my girlfriend’s place.”

“No, yeah,” Felicity says, ignoring the fizzy feeling in her chest from him calling her his _girlfriend_. “That makes sense. Just... what time is your alarm set for?”

When he doesn’t answer immediately, Felicity groans and drops her forehead to his chest. She has  _so many_   _things_ she wants to do to him -- and with him -- tonight, but it's already after eleven, and he really needs to get a solid few hours of sleep.

“Six,” he says.

“ _ Six _ !” 

“Felicity,” Oliver says, rubbing her back, “I can go if--”

“No, no, no,” she interrupts, slinging her thigh across his body and wriggling her way on top of him. “You’re not going on anywhere.” 

He’s breathing heavily, his fingers clutching at her hips, pupils blown as he gazes up at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she pushes herself upright, letting the blanket fall down her back. He’s hard beneath her, and she gives him a little grind until he groans her name. Felicity beams down at him. “You’re just lucky I love you enough to wake up at six a.m.”

“So fucking lucky,” he says, his hands tightening on her waist. “Love you so much”

Felicity shifts, taking him inside. She leans down onto her elbows and kisses him, wet and messy. “Show me,” she breathes.

He does.

 

END


End file.
